


it's hard to miss you when you're always on the tip of my tongue

by bizarrebird



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Character Study, Getting Together, Introspection, M/M, Pining, RvB Rare Pair Week, Set between seasons 12 and 13, brief descriptions of violence and injury, very brief mentions of untagged ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 15:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18759499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizarrebird/pseuds/bizarrebird
Summary: Bitters knows what kind of person he is. He's lazy and he gives up easy and he never sees the bright side of anything. That's not the kind of person who gets to go home a war hero. He's not the guy who gets a happy ending.That doesn't mean he doesn't want one.





	it's hard to miss you when you're always on the tip of my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> So I may have started this for last year's rare pair week and got hit by a massive case of writer's block. I've been poking at it off and on since then, and now, it's finally done, just in time for this year's! I will sail Bittersmith myself if I have to.

Armonia sucks. This crappy truce with the Feds sucks. Waiting on their asses for the mercs to show up again sucks. And the fact that Agent ‘stick up my ass’ Washington is still making them all run laps every goddamn day sucks most of all. 

Bitters drops to the dead grass in the middle of the track, wheezing. Why do they even have an actual track here? Who the hell gets to a planet out in the middle of the bumfuck nowhere part of space and decides it’s the perfect place to build a goddamn track? Who was even using this thing before Wash started making them work out here? The Feds sure as shit weren’t, because Bitters knows the little cluster of them a little further along the track are just as bent out of shape about this as he is. 

The generals had gone on and on about how they didn’t have to wear armor inside Armonia’s walls, how it was supposed to make them all feel more cohesive and less like they were about to open fire on each other. All it’s doing right now is making Bitters that much more aware of how gross and sweaty he is. His shirt’s stuck to his back and his stupid fucking shorts can’t decide whether they wanna ride up or slide right the fuck down, so they somehow compromise by doing a little of both at the same time. 

He’s not the only one on the ground, but the rest of his stupid group is still up, though only barely. Palomo’s doubled over, hands on his knees and Jensen’s leaning against him heavily, elbows resting on his back. And of course fucking Smith is just fine. 

“Five minute breather then let’s get back to it,” he says, because he’s the one asshole out here who doesn’t want to take advantage of the fact that Wash is distracted breaking up a fight between a couple girls on Jensen’s squad and a bunch of Fed idiots. Smith has his shirt off and he’s sort of glisteny like he’s about to pose in front of a sports car for some trash magazine. Bitters kind of hates him a little because the one thing that could get him back up on his feet in five minutes is the promise of getting to watch the muscles of Smith’s back move as he runs. 

When did he turn into such a loser? If the shitty, dead grass covering field in the center of the track could just crack open right now and swallow him whole, that would be fucking swell. He tips his head back and closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch Smith stretch out next to him. 

Smith is going on and on about something, endurance training maybe? Not like Bitters is really listening. He doesn’t care about any kind of training. All he wants to do is get back to his shitty room and pretend that the rest of the planet doesn’t exist for a couple hours. But Smith can’t have that. 

A wet, sloshing noise makes Bitters open his eyes to find the water bottle dangling over his face. Of course Smith is the one offering it. Of fucking course. He takes it, if only so he can snatch it out of the air, leaving it open for him to glower properly. Not that that does anything to deter the bright smile Smith gives him. 

He doesn't want to hate that smile. He doesn’t. Hating smiles is the kinda shit that cartoon villains do. And deep down, Bitters likes it. He likes that Smith gives him the kind of look that could make flowers sprout out of dead earth or the sun burst out from behind a cloud. But the thing is…

The thing is. That smile isn’t just for him. It’s for everyone. Smith doesn’t show discretion. He gives away that bright, open warmth freely, without even thinking. 

And that’s what Bitters hates. He’s selfish and shitty and he just… he just wants it all to himself. Just that one thing. Well, okay, maybe a little more. He wants more than that smile. But he can’t think about that shit. He can’t head down that rabbit hole again, get to thinking about how he wants to be the only one that sees Smith looking like that. How he wants to be the reason for that stupid smile. How he wants to let that smile make everything better. How he wants to smother himself with it until there’s nothing left. 

Bitters’s mouth is suddenly dry. Reluctantly, he takes a long drink from Smith’s water bottle and then hands it back, wiping his mouth on his hand. “Thanks.”

“Of course, I noticed you forgot yours again. Staying hydrated is very important,” Smith says, hands on his hips, posing like some fucking superhero. 

God, why does he like this nerd? 

Bitters just rolls his eyes. “How much longer do we have to go? We’ve been running laps all morning.”

“I believe we go until Captain Grif arrives.”

Groaning, Bitters flops back onto the grass and drapes an arm over his eyes. “Then we’re gonna be here all fucking day. I swear to god I’m gonna transfer to a different captain.”

“Just look at it as endurance training, Bitters. I’m sure Captain Grif will be suitably impressed with our progress by the time he arrives.”

He doesn’t even need to look to know that Smith’s somehow saying that with a straight face, so he just groans again. “Dude, do you even listen to yourself when you say that stuff? Grif doesn’t give a shit, he just doesn’t want to work out.”

“Hmm, be that as it may, we should still use this as an opportunity to improve. Come on, let’s get back to it.”

Bitters sighs and drops his arm from his eyes finding Smith offering him a hand up. He takes it with far less reluctance than he wants. Smith pulls him up easily and faster than Bitters expects, so he takes a staggering step, steadying himself with a hand on Smith’s stupidly toned chest. Goddamn it.

He steps away quickly, before Smith can ask if he’s alright or something, and turns away. “Let’s just fucking run.”

And he takes off even though his legs hate him for it and his face is still burning. It sucks, so much, but at least it doesn’t take long for Smith to pass him and the view gets a little better. Maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world that there’s no way in hell Captain Grif is showing up anytime soon. 

* * *

Bitters knows what kind of person he is. He's lazy and he gives up easy and he never sees the bright side of anything. That's not the kind of person who gets to go home a war hero. He's not the guy who gets a happy ending.

That doesn't mean he doesn't want one.

It doesn’t mean he’s not looking forward to this fucking war finally ending. It doesn’t mean he never has any stupid dreams about the kind of stuff he’d like if he manages to survive. He doesn’t talk about it much, not even when Palomo and Jensen start going back and forth about all the things they want to do if they make it through. 

“I’m gonna get Captain Tucker to teach me to ride a motorcycle. Oh, or maybe how to fly a pelican.”

Bitters rolls his eyes. “You can do that shit now, dumbass.”

“Oh yeah, I guess I could.” Palomo looks even more like a little kid now, swinging his legs over the edge of the fire escape. They’ve got decent rooms now, at least better than the shitty cramped barracks in the old underground bunker. Bitters knows he’s got the best one, although he almost wishes he didn’t since it means everyone wants to hang out there whenever they’ve got free time. 

He leans against the rickety railing, cigarette dangling from his lips. It’s unlit, because Smith always gives him the worst looks when he smokes around Jensen and Palomo. Something about him being a bad influence or whatever. 

“The first thing I’m doing is getting these stupid braces off,” Jensen declares from her spot, leaning back against the building, arms crossed behind her head. “What about you, Smith?”

Smith taps his chin, humming thoughtfully. He’s still standing almost at attention near the railing, looking over the streets below. Even on break, the guy never turns off the soldier thing. Always gotta be on top of everything. “I think I’d like to build houses.”

“Seriously?” Bitters snorts. 

“Rebuilding is going to be important, Bitters,” Smith says, very slight air of judgement in his voice as he looks down at him. Bitters knows better than to take that part personally. Smith’s so fucking huge, he can’t not look down at people. “But… once things are settled a bit, I think I’d like to go camping again.”

“Oooh, that could be fun. Oh, what if we all went camping together?” Jensen already sounds way too excited about it. 

Palomo nods, turning to look at her. “That would be awesome. You wanna share a tent with me, Jensen?”

“No.”

“Dang it. Oh well, had to try.”

Bitters shakes his head a little as they start making plans for the stupid trip that’s never going to happen. Idiots are gonna get too excited for it. “The fuck are you guys making so many plans for? It’s not like we’ll ever get to do any of that stuff.”

Jensen huffs at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just because you’re a big grump doesn’t mean the rest of us are, Antoine.”

Palomo lets out a little ‘oooh’ so Bitters flicks his unlit cigarette at him. Smith makes a noise of disapproval as he catches it in mid air and turns to head back into the room, probably to throw it away properly. “It doesn’t hurt to have things to look forward to, Bitters.”

“Yeah, isn’t there anything you wanna do after the war? Something you’re looking forward to?” Jensen asks it like it’s a challenge. 

Bitters blows out a breath, eyes flicking to Smith’s retreating back before he can stop himself. He hates camping, but… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad going with these idiots. Sitting around a fire, telling stupid stories, watching Palomo do something dumb to make Jensen laugh, leaning against Smith’s side to keep warm. 

And he lets his mind wander a little further, to one of those houses Smith wants to build. They wouldn’t need anything big, just enough room for the two of them, maybe guest rooms if these idiots tag along. It could be quiet there, peaceful, warm and bright. And he’d never have to work to remember what Smith looks like smiling. He wouldn’t have to worry about Palomo getting himself killed, or Jensen’s shitty driving landing her in hot water. They’d all be safe, together, and he’d stop feeling like the bottom of the world might fall out from under him because Smith would always be there to pull him back up. It’s not a bad happy ending. But he can’t really believe it’s one he’s going to get. 

He looks back to Jensen and catches her smirking. She knows him too well and he doesn’t know when the hell that happened, so he just shrugs and looks down into the alley again. “Pot brownies.”

She snorts. “So lame, Antoine.”

But she doesn’t call him on his bullshit and goes back to tossing ideas around with Palomo. She’s decent like that sometimes, even if she does shoot him a little smile when Smith returns and starts talking about the kind of house he’d like to build for all of them, because at some point the four of them became a package deal. 

And somehow… Bitters doesn’t mind the idea of being stuck with them if they all manage to make it through.    


* * *

It doesn’t matter how many missions Bitters goes on, he’s never going to get used to being shot at. He knows that there’s some guys on his squad who are so used to the war shit that it doesn’t bother them much anymore, or they say it doesn’t. Bitters usually claims the same, but he can never get his jaw to unclench when the bullets start flying.

There’ve been so many boring, easy missions lately, it figures they’re about due for one where everything goes sideways. 

They’re pinned down, hiding out in an old house that’s half destroyed, waiting for backup. Carolina’s out there somewhere holding off Felix personally, but the pirates have him and the other lieutenants completely trapped. Captain Tucker’s on his way with a bunch of feds, but they’re still at least five minutes out. So they just need to hold up until then. 

Just stay put and not get shot. Which is a lot fucking easier said than done. 

Because Smith, for all his focus on being a good soldier and following orders and all that bullshit, hasn’t done either one. Bitters curses under his breath and presses his hands more tightly to the still bleeding wound at Smith’s side. “Hey, asshole, don’t you fall asleep on me.”

Smith nods, blinking like he’s trying to snap out of a daze. He probably is. The shot to his side had sent him to his knees, right next to a grenade. His helmet’s fucked now, Bitters had yanked off what was left of it to keep the broken bits of the visor from jabbing him in the face. There’s a few bruises and cuts on his face, but it’s the gunshot wound that Bitters is mostly worrying about. It won’t stop bleeding. Fuck. 

“Bitters,” Smith says, sounding more together than he looks. “You need to regroup with the others. Backup’s coming and you have to be ready to move.”

“Yeah, I fucking know that. They’re not answering the stupid radio.” They’re fine though. They have to be. The last time he saw them was before he dragged Smith away from the wall that had come down on him when the grenade went off. They’d been pinned down on the other side of the house, but there’s way too much rubble in the way to get back over there now.    


Smith shifts, like he’s trying to sit up straight, eyes looking more focused now as he grabs at Bitters’s arm. “You need to find them and get moving. If you leave me your grenades, I should be able to create a distraction long enough for--”

“The fuck are you talking about?” No, no, no. He’s not doing this. They’re not doing this. 

Bitters knows this part. He’s seen all the stupid action movies, and he always hates this bit, the stupid heroic self-sacrificing bullshit. 

Smith just sighs like he expects it. “It’s your best chance to get away.”

“Dude, just shut the fuck up. I’m not leaving you here, alright? Backup’s coming so--just quit with the dramatic bullshit.”

“Lieutenant Bitters, I was put in charge of this squad,” Smith starts, all stern and strict, but then he takes a breath and changes tracks, because he has to know that’s not going to work. His face softens a little. “I’m already hurt, Jensen and Palomo could still be fine. I’m giving you your best chance.”

Bitters’s hands shake where they’re still pressing at Smith’s side. How the fuck can he just say that? He looks fucking calm too. All resigned. Like he’s ready to just fucking take it if the pirates burst in. So stupid and fucking noble and Bitters hates it. Hates him. 

Well, he wants to. But he can’t. Never could. 

“Shut up.” He hits the release for his helmet. “Shut up.” It drops to the floor with a soft thud. “Shut up.” He presses the last plea against Smith’s lips.

Bitters hears the soft, shocked intake of breath as he cups Smith’s face with both hands. This is probably his only shot at this, even if they both make it out alive. He's not gonna fucking waste it.

His eyes stay shut as he pulls back a little, because he so doesn’t wanna know what Smith’s face is doing right now. “I’m not leaving you here, jackass. So suck it up.”

“Antoine--” Smith starts saying, but Bitters is already moving, jamming his helmet back on before moving to the on window left in their little hideout, firing out it and gritting his teeth against all the things he wants to scream. 

Backup gets there less than a minute later. Smith gets loaded up on the first pelican out, medics already patching him up. Bitters watches it go and takes the jeep back with Palomo and Jensen. He watches the world as it goes by, kind of wishing he could just find a ditch to go lie in for a while, maybe stay there till this whole fucking thing blows over. 

* * *

Bitters doesn’t visit Smith in the hospital. He doesn’t sit by his bedside waiting for him to wake up. He doesn’t throw himself into training until every muscle aches. He doesn’t write out big long speeches he wants to give the next time he sees him. Not on paper anyway, a few dozen run through his head before he decides that’s stupid. 

Maybe they’re fighting a war, but he’s no war hero. That kind of dramatic shit is for the captains and the freelancers. They’re a bunch of assholes and idiots, but they’re the ones people are gonna want to make movies about. 

So Bitters just sits on his fire escape and chain smokes. Smith’ll probably lecture him for it later. He always knows somehow when Bitters goes through more than a pack a day. Possibly cause he sneaks money out of Smith’s room to buy more. He pays him back for it. Usually. Smith’s just the only one that’s always got extra cash on hand for emergencies. 

The city is all calm and quiet and boring. That’s always made him uneasy. There were plenty of boring days at the old base too. War movies never wanna talk about how mind numbing all the down time is, how there’s just all the endless hours of sitting around waiting for shit to go wrong. Usually the longer the boring bits go on, the worst things are when something finally explodes. 

It’s two days before Smith gets out of the hospital. Bitters gets half a dozen messages about it from Jensen before he tosses his datapad into the room and leaves it on the floor. Not like he doesn’t want to see him, but what the hell is he supposed to say if he does? Smith is probably a decent enough guy that if Bitters asked him to, he would just forget the whole thing. 

But… fuck, he doesn’t want that. He hates the big dramatic stuff, and it would be so, so much easier to just move past it and act like it didn’t happen. Just let everything go back to normal until the next time he thinks they might die. 

Or it would be if he could actually forget about it. But he can’t. 

The scene plays in his head again and again. Shots going off around them. Too much noise, heat trying to creep through his armor. Blood on the ground. Blood on his hands. Too much of it. And Smith. Stupid Smith. Perfect Smith. His shaking voice. Then the press of his lips. The questions in his voice. 

Yeah, yeah that’s not gonna get out of his head any time soon. And the thing to do is obvious, just get off his ass and go down there to talk to Smith. Just work their shit out and be done with it. Except… he doesn’t have the energy to deal with that. He still doesn’t have the energy the next day. Or the day after that. He’s not sure he ever will. 

Bitters isn’t the kind to reach out first. Never has been. 

So when there’s a light knock at his already open door, he just glances up and gives Smith a nod. Because of course it’s him. He’s moving a little slower than usual, but he still makes his way over and out onto the fire escape, already frowning at the cigarette dangling from Bitters’s lips. “You really shouldn’t smoke.”

“Are you ever gonna get tired of telling me that?” There’s not much left to the cigarette, so Bitters puts it out on the bottom of his boot as he leans forward, hunching in on himself a little. 

“It doesn’t seem likely,” Smith says, even though he doesn’t really need to answer the question. He has a very small, soft smile on his face when Bitters looks up at him. 

Yeah… fuck it, Bitters isn’t doing this. The awkward back and forth, leaving all those question marks in the air. He’s watched Captain Tucker and Agent Washington dance around each other since they rescued the Freelancer and he doesn’t even know what the hell is going on with Grif and Simmons, but it looks fucking exhausting. 

He wipes his palms on his sweats and looks over Smith’s face again. “You know I’m into you, right?”

Smith looks almost amused by the question, his eyebrows rising a little before he nods. “I’d gathered as much, yes.”

“Alright. So… is that weird or what?” His stupid hands won’t stop with the awful palm sweat. Fuck, he can’t even stop being gross for one damn second. 

For a brief moment, Smith actually looks like he’s thinking about it, brow furrowing. But then he shakes his head. “It’s not weird. It’s quite flattering… if a little unexpected.”

Okay that’s… okay. God, why can’t this just be done already? Bitters runs a hand through his hair, it’s getting shaggy again, too long and hanging in his face. Maybe he should take a page out of Smith’s book and just buzz it all off. 

“So we’re good, right?” he asks, even though he doesn’t know what an answer to that would mean, or what he wants to hear. What would them being ‘good’ even look like right now? 

“I’d like to think so. I did want to ask something though.” Smith has these deep brown eyes that sometimes make it seem like he can just see right through him. “Earlier… You only kissed me because you thought we were going to die, didn’t you?”

Fuck. Bitters shrugs. No point hiding it. “Yeah, kinda. Figured I might not get another chance, so I might as well. Plus you were pissing me off.”

Smith actually snorts at that, his strangely neat eyebrows rising. He’s gotta pluck them, no human has eyebrows that look that good naturally. “You kissed me because I was pissing you off?”

Bitters rolls his eyes at the incredulous tone. “Yeah. So?” 

“Well,” Smith says slowly, like he’s really thinking about it, one hand going to his chin. “If that’s the reason, I’m amazed you didn’t do as much sooner. I am rather certain I piss you off quite regularly.”

And okay, that’s actually fair. Bitters lets out a surprised bark of a laugh and shakes his head. “Yeah, well… it wasn’t just that. But I had to get you to shut the fuck up, didn’t I? You were being a dumbass.”

“Oh was I?” There go Smith’s eyebrows again, all poised and clever this time. “Here I thought I was being heroic and noble.”

“Same thing,” Bitters says, shrugging again. He shifts uncomfortably, resisting the urge to go for another cigarette. His ability to resist lasts about thirty seconds. “I hate that crap.”

“Which crap would that be?” Smith asks, all polite, even though Bitters can see in his eyes that he wants to laugh at him. He almost wants him to. Might make things easier. 

“The stupid self-sacrificing bullshit.” It comes out more bitter than he means it to. Living up to his name again. He turns away, already knowing Smith’s going to have that surprised, and slightly offended look on his face. “Dying and leaving everyone behind isn’t heroic. It just sucks. Cause then you’re gone and everyone else has to deal with it. The fuck is noble about bailing early?”

Bitters’s face is warm and he hates everything, but he doesn’t look at Smith. He doesn’t want to see the disappointed, drawn eyebrows, or the curl of his lips that means a serious talking to is coming. 

“I… I don’t know.” Smith’s voice is soft, careful. “I suppose when one looks at it that way… it isn’t particularly noble at all. I’m sorry.”

Uh. What. Bitters blinks, once, twice, several times. Huh. Not what he expected. He can’t not look at Smith now. His face is all open and his dark eyes catch the light and shimmer. How is he not doing this shit on purpose? 

Bitters clears his throat and shrugs one shoulder. “It’s whatever. I just… we’re supposed to be in this together, yeah? You, Palomo, me, and Jensen. It’s like--we’re a team. And if you go down, the fuck are the rest of us supposed to do.”

Smith opens his mouth and Bitters quickly lifts a hand to stop him. “Don’t give me any of that crap about how we’d be fine without you. You fucking know we wouldn’t be. We’re not… none of us are like you, man.”

Now Smith’s frowning. “Like me how?”

Crap, of course he’d ask. Bitters shrugs again, his hands coming up to try to explain the words he can’t get his stupid mouth to make. “We’re not… I dunno. Optimistic and shit. Yeah Palomo’s an idiot and he can try to see the bright side and Jensen’s not a downer like me, but… it’s not the same. You actually fucking believe we can do this. You--goddamn it--you make  _ me _ think we can do this. So. Yeah. We need you to keep your dumb ass alive, alright?”

“I see.” Smith nods, like Bitters said something deep instead of a rambly bunch of garbage. He rubs at his chin. There’s a little stubble there now, probably couldn’t shave in the hospital, Bitters has never seen him with it before. It’s stupid and distracting and he wants to rub his hands all over Smith’s obnoxiously square jaw. 

“Well then, I’ll do my best to stay alive if you promise to do the same,” Smith says after a few long moments. 

Scoffing, Bitters rolls his eyes. “Yeah sure.”

“I mean it, Antoine.” There’s something about the way Smith says his name that makes Bitters want to squirm. All deep and important sounding. “We need you too. You’re a valuable member of this team. And more than that… you’re important to me.”

Bitters cocks an eyebrow and watches as Smith draws close. Jesus Christ, he’s so fucking tall. He has to straighten up a little and he still has to tip his head back to look up at him as Smith gets in his space, and gently cups his jaw with one hand. 

It’s not a movie star kiss. He kind of has to awkwardly stand on tiptoe, steadying himself with a hand on Smith’s chest and it’s not fireworks and explosions or any of that shit. But it’s soft, and warm, and it gets a little better when one of Smith’s hands curls around the small of his back and presses him in close. 

And it’s only slightly ruined by Smith making a face when he pulls back. “I should have asked you to brush your teeth first.”

Bitters snorts. “Yeah, probably. Tough luck.”

And he pulls him in again. 

* * *

It’s another six months before they get to go camping. Armonia is gone, so are plenty of good people, but the four of them are still around to pile their shit into a borrowed jeep. They go to Smith’s favorite spot, at the edge of a lake a few miles outside of a burnt out town where he used to live. There’s a couple empty cabins there, but they set up tents anyway. Smith insists. 

“The point is to be out in nature, Antoine,” he says, standing proudly before his mammoth of a tent. It’s the only one up so far. Smith had gotten it done in about four seconds, cause there's nothing he doesn't do perfect apparently.  


Bitters huffs and goes back to poking at the small beginnings of a campfire. That had been Palomo’s bright idea, cook everything on the fire, don’t bring any regular food. Dumbass. At least he’s paying for it now. 

There’s a squawk from the blue canvas mess that’s supposed to be Palomo’s tent. Jensen emerges, huffing and puffing, throwing a few elbows as she scrambles to her feet. “Where did you even get this tent, Palomo? Where’s the instructions?”

Palomo’s voice is muffled by the tent on top of him, the only sign of him being in there is one foot sticking through folds in the canvas. Rolling her eyes, Jensen shakes her head. She strides over to the fire and plops down next to Bitters. “Why aren’t you helping?”

He shrugs. “Someone’s gotta take care of the fire. Plus, it’s not like I’m staying in there with him.”

“Right, cause you’re staying with John.” Jensen drags out the name, something a little too knowing in her eyes.

Bitters shoves at her shoulder. “Shut up.”

That doesn’t stop her grinning at him. She pokes at him with an accusing finger. “That’s not a no.”

Rolling his eyes, Bitters pokes at the fire. It doesn’t really need it. The little flame is already going strong, licking at the bits of paper and wood they had piled together earlier. Despite himself, his attention drifts to Smith, watching him move to help Palomo escape from his tragedy of a tent. Smith’s probably could to end up putting that one together, Jensen’s too. The guy never knows when to stop helping. 

Bitters doesn’t mean to smile, but he can’t force the expression away as he shrugs. “Yeah, I guess it’s not.” 

“Good.” 

The hell does that mean? Bitters turns to blink at her and finds her still grinning at him. She seems to pick up on the question in his look and her hand lands on his shoulder. “I like seeing you happy. I mean, it’s kind of weird, but a good weird.”

Well, Bitters can’t really argue with that. He’s never really had a lot of good days and he can count the amount of times he’s been in a decent mood on one hand. Maybe that’s exaggerating, but not by much. It’s always easier to see the worst in things, to focus on all the bad. Everyone in his squad like to joke about how he tries too hard to live up to his name. But now… after the war, after everything, it’s harder to find reasons not to smile. 

Jensen gives his shoulder a squeeze before getting up to drag Smith over to help with her tent now. The fire isn’t half as interesting as watching the two of them and Palomo work on putting the thing together. Because they’re all here. They all made it. 

Smith looks up and catches his eye. The smile Bitters gets nearly knocks the wind out of him. How the asshole can still do that to him, he doesn’t know. But hell, he’ll take it. It’s weird, how he had thought about this months before, called it their ‘happy ending’. That’s wrong now, get gets that. 

Because with Jensen and Palomo laughing over the crackle of the fire and Smith smiling brighter than the sun, Bitters knows this isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning. 


End file.
